The One That Got Away

I'm drifting in my little boat on a mostly calm sea.
Caressed by cooling breezes -
The endless sky clear and blue,
Fading into a glorious sunset blazing from the west.

It's a stunning sight.

Around me, the waters are teeming
With a plethora of fish - large and small.
They swim around me, churning up the water.
I could reach in and grab them by the handful.

Glorious sky, peaceful sailing, plentiful fish.
I'm grateful.
And yet, my mind will not be swayed from
The one that got away.

Plenty of Fish In The Sea

They love to tell you there are plenty of fish in the sea.
Great.
Never mind that the last fish who snagged my line
Nearly killed me.

He yanked me out of my safe, dry spot and dragged me down
down
down
Down to the depths of sea.


He pulled me along behind him and I was tenacious.
He was such a lovely fish...  The kind I'd always dreamed of catching

And while I did get to see some remarkable things beneath the surface of the water,
I barely survived.

Just when I thought my
Lungs would burst, we would break the surface of the water.
Just long enough for me to inhale a
Gulp of sweet air
Before he took me down again.

Three times, four
I kicked up toward the light
Broke the surface and gasped
Before he dragged me underneath again.

Apparently, he thought I needed to get a little wet.

Finally, I decided to release the pole.  I just... let go.
The fish took off - my hook still in his mouth
Towing the pole as he
Went down into the abyss without me.

I scrambled back into my little boat
Gasping,
Panting,
Spent, but elated.
Feeling more alive than ever before.

Happily now I drift blithely on the surface of the sea
Without paddle or pole.

I suppose one of those other fish could possibly leap into my boat.
That is what it would take,
Because my casting days are over.

Fault Lines

You taught me to fear the silences.
Like the eerie quiet of nature before a seismic event,
They descended, ominous
Harbingers of doom.
Every pause pregnant with dread
A warning that disaster was imminent.

Each one left me scrambling
To uncover what horrible
Transgression triggered the
Latest tremors,
And what I could do to appease
The demon.

But that was as effective
As the ancient priestess
Sacrificing to the god of the volcano
Desperate to stave off eruption.

The explosion always came.

How odd now it feels to dismantle the
Inner seismometer,
Lose the habit of duck and cover,
And realize that I wasn't responsible
For the shifting along your fault lines.

Now that I've moved away from  the epicenter
I see clearly
Your continental drift was beyond
My control.

Aspiration

Someone recently pointed out to me the relationship to reading (breathing in)
and writing (breathing out).

I can certainly concur.

I have been panting, taking in everything - all the evidence, the elaborate explanations.
Inhaling the stories, the circumstances, the conditions.
Every thing you spewed out, I took in with gulping breaths,
Holding it all in until my lungs felt like they would burst.

It's toxic, and yet I was afraid to exhale, unwilling to release it.
So I held my breath until I was weak.
Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, I held until I passed out.
Then the survival instinct kicked in - breaths came shallowly,
But my body was so desperate to hang on to  that old, stale air.

The run forces me to breathe deeply,
And afterward, the pen pries my stubborn lips apart.
In and out.  They conspire to make me inhale the new sights
New faces.  Fresh and clean.  Bright and buoyant the cool air comes.
And to make room for it, I exhale deeply, and breathe you out.

Breaths become sobs, but each one cleanses
Wracking and squeezing out the poison.
Until there is nothing left for me to do
But breathe.

Place for Rent

This place was a mess
When I got the listing.
Dark, stuffy, Oppressive
And, boy was it wrecked.

Had barely been
Maintained at all...
20 years of constant occupancy,
And very little upkeep.

The last tenant had to be
Forcibly removed after.
A lengthy eviction process,
He left the place a shambles:

Structural damage,
Walls kicked full of holes,
Overflowing with his garbage,
It took months to clean it all out.

It's a great little place - Has good bones.
Great location.
Quality neighborhood.
But golly was it a mess.

It's since had a complete renovation.
We started from the foundation up.

Tore up the ratty carpet and found
Gorgeous hardwood floors.
All polished up now.

Knocked down a few walls
To open up the floor plan.
Now a fellow can breathe in here.

Freshened up the paint,
Cleaned all those dingy windows.
Now it's lighter, brighter.

Still a few scars from
Past occupants, but in the business
We like to call that "character."

It's available now, but
We aren't advertising.
Instead we're relying on word-of-mouth.

Of course, with all the
Improvements we've had to
Raise the rent a bit.

If you asked me, that was the trouble before.
The rent was too low.  You have to set a
Higher price to keep out the riff-raff.

Still, considering all you get -
The quality of the location
It's quite a bargain.

Thank you, River

Thank you, River
          for rocks and rapids and
          your gentle flow.

Thank you, Trees
          for bent, bowed, and twisted branches
          that lean over the waters.

Thank you, Turtles
          for taking pleasure in the sun with
          utter disregard for the pleasure it brings the observer.

Thank you, Travelers
          for blazing this trail, marking it
          so I could find my way to this place.

Thank you, Creator
          for fashioning all this and allowing it to grow and change
          and unfold into this moment.

Nature's Healing

When my heart was wounded,
                 I sought out the gentle ministrations of nature.
The woods surrounded me and applied
                Gentle pressure to stop me from bleeding out.
The river cleansed my wounds
The leaves provided dressings to bandage them
Twining vines wrapped them snugly
The breeze soothed me.
The currents lulled me to sleep.
                 And I was healed.

Not Much More I Can Say About That...

When you find the perfect words expressed in the perfect way, sometimes you just have to let them stand on their own.

I could liken you to a werewolf,

the way you left me for dead

But I admit that I provided a full moon

And I could liken you to a shark

the way you bit off my head

But then again,

I was waving around a bleeding, open wound

But you were such a super guy

Till the second you get a whiff of me

We are like a wishing well

And a bolt of electricity

But we can still support each other

All we gotta do's avoid each other

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

The lava of the volcano

shot up hot from under the sea

One thing leads to another

and you made an island of me

And I could liken you to a chemical,

the way you made me compound a compound

But I'm a chemical too

Inevitable you and me would mix

And I could liken you to a lot of things

But I always come around

'Cause in the end, I'm a sensible girl

I know the fiction of the fix

But you were such a super guy

Till the second you get a whiff of me

We are like a wishing well

And a bolt of electricity

But we can still support each other

All we gotta do's avoid each other

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Nothing wrong when a song ends in a minor key

Read more: Fiona Apple - Werewolf Lyrics | MetroLyrics

What is The Point in This?

February 1, 2015

Why do I write the plaintive messages? These love letters to a man who will not see them, and even if he does, is unlikely to be moved by them?

At first they were hopeful, almost romantic. A little message in a bottle, thrown out to sea, carrying all the things that I wanted you to know during our time apart. I imagined that you would pluck the little bottle from the water, read the words, and know you were loved.

Later, they became statements of purpose, to prove (prove to who?) that I was coping during our time of estrangement. All the things I wanted you to know, typed up just for you. I imagined you reading them and being impressed at my progress.

Now these words feel less like a romantic message in a bottle and more like a huge billboard on the side of a road that you never travel.  They are not the powerful messages I had hoped they would be.

So who is this for, exactly? What is the point to this? And why am I spending my time doing this?

Ah, yes.  I do this for me.

Landmines

February 6, 2015

At the beginning of this conflict, I was careful to tiptoe through the minefields, aware that any step could trigger an unexpected explosion of emotion.  I moved slowly and gingerly each step mindful. I carefully archived the emails, deleted the playlists, packed away the mementos, hid the photos. All actions done deliberately to avoid detonation.

As time passed, I became more comfortable and would pass through the field a bit more quickly- after all, I knew where the trouble spots were, so I could easily avoid them. I knew which places were out of bounds. Which routes would trigger a reaction. And as I became more removed, I grew more confident. My steps became less ginger, more purposeful, more brisk.

How arrogant of me to think that it was safe to skip through that field.

Today, as I strode through, I happened upon a folder labeled VIP in my inbox. I didn't recall creating it, so I opened it. And... ka-blam! There were your early words to me - so earnest, so heartfelt:

"I have looked into your eyes and I see the rest of my life in them."
"I want to share the rest of my life with you, and I will do whatever it takes to get there."
"It is really worth fighting for."

And I come undone. Pieces of me scatter, my legs completely blown out from under me. The landmines haven't been defused. I had just gotten skilled at avoiding them.

Until I wasn't.

And here I am, in pieces yet again.

Ugly Truths

February 5, 2015

I am forcing myself to feel every drop of this. All i want to do is make it stop - to distract myself. To find another person, action, project, anything to take my attention away from the sting of this.   But I will not. I will take the full brunt of it. Shielded by nothing. Distracted by nothing.

I will not be beaten by this.

I have been allowing myself to cling to hope, the glimmer of possibility, the promise of the future. But that is gone. There is only the bitterness of this. The pain and the disappointment and the harsh truth that you are done with me.

I admit, I thought this was temporary. I believed it was a hiatus and not a finale. I thought "see you on the flip side" was code for "see you later, alligator."  

And I struggled with that. Estrangement was tough, but at least there was the hope.

Only now, with the absence of that hope, do I realize how heavily I was relying on it. Now faced with this ugly truth, I can barely stand it.  

But I will. I will face it - head on. I will not run from it. I will not hide from it. I will not deny it.

Because while the crush of rejection hurts deeply, I know it will pass. Every day will be a little better, until one day you'll just be a memory.

It is hard to admit that you don't want me. But that doesn't mean I am unwantable. 

And just because you don't love me, doesn't mean I am unlovable.
It doesn't.
It does not.

I will not let it.

I will not become bitter. I will not shut down my heart. I will not retreat into myself and hide away from the world.  

No matter how much I want to.

I never loved anyone the way I loved you.  I've never hurt the way I hurt now.  And I will feel. every. pang until it is completely done.  And then... then? 

 A new day will begin.

Strong(er) Swimmer

January 25, 2015

There is a reason why I don't send these thoughts directly to you. It's not out of prudence or propriety or even fear.  It's because these ramblings only tell one side of the story. To read just these, one might think I'm sad, lonely, pining away in my little corner of the world. Waiting for the day when the winds will shift and the world will be made right again.

That's not quite true.

Yes, I do think of you almost every day. And yes, I do miss you. Your absence is palpable.  But please don't think that I am unhappy because of it.

I feel stronger than I ever have before. Some of that strength comes because I have this outlet - I can channel the darkness into a creative pursuit, so it doesn't consume me. This outlet allows me to drain away some of it when the water level gets too high. so I am not in danger of drowning.

I'm not sinking.
Not at all.
I'm learning to swim.

And every day, I get stronger, faster, with more endurance, more stamina.

So if the day comes when you and I find ourselves in the pool together again, I won't be looking to you to keep me afloat.  I will be moving by my own strength through the water with strong strokes. Agile, lithe, and purposeful.

I hope you will be able to keep up.

Lost and Found

February 1, 2015

I've have always been the finder of misplaced items: keys, socks, notebooks, bills. I'm the girl they go to when something important disappears. I close my eyes, and I can see exactly where it is. If it goes amiss, I bring it back again.

I'm very good at this, and I offer the service to others.  However, somewhere along the way, I lost something important. I lost myself.

Sadly, I had no idea it was even gone.

When I found you, I got lost in you so easily, that it didn't seem to matter. But you showed me, reminded me that something essential was missing. Initially, instead of searching for it, I just enjoyed being lost. And then, for a while, I looked to you to loan me that which I was missing.

That was kind of a disaster.

Turns out, you had lost yourself too. I - the finder of lost things - tried to help you locate it.  Unfortunately, that is a search you had to do yourself. So we started searching.  While the two of us were groping around, looking for what was missing, I lost you.

That was kind of devastating.

But something amazing has happened. While I was scratching around, trying to find a path back to you, I found something even better. I found myself. My strength. My direction. I found my voice. And my worth. And my courage. And my path.

What was lost now is found.

I hope you find what it is you were seeking. Even more, I hope somehow you find your way back to me. Because the best thing I can think of, besides finding myself, of course, is to find myself next to you again.

Sundays

January 18, 2015

For most of my life, I have dreaded Sunday.

As a child, it meant a long morning seated on an uncomfortable church pew, listening to the pastor drone on and on about absolutes and thou shalt nots. There would be a break, and then back that night for more.

In my early working days, Sunday meant the leisure of the weekend was ending. Time to panic and figure out what I was going to do with my students the next day. They were frantic and laden with anxiety.

Later, Sunday meant more teaching. The entire day almost. Drudgery.

Then for about 5 months of my life, Sunday became my favorite day.

Waking early with you next to me, the day stretched out with lazy possibility. We could do anything or nothing. Or both. We'd venture out to get fresh baked French pastries, overpriced coffee, and - even though there was one waiting for me at my place - a newspaper because you knew I loved to read it.

We would sit on your patio and soak in Sunday. Breathe it in. We'd watch Sunday morning TV, like we were somebody's grandparents and talk about. . . everything.

Rainy Sundays were my absolute favorite. The soft drumming background music of the rain seemed written for us, and while the it poured down, I never ever felt a drop.

Now Sundays are a necessary evil. The paper: a chore to be completed. The coffee: way too expensive and too much trouble to go fetch.

So I pass the time by recalling those past imperfectly perfect Sundays until the sun finally sets, and I can just go back to sleep.

Workforce Dispute

January 15, 2015

These days, it's only upon waking that the longing really kicks in. That moment while I linger on the border between consciousness and dreams, when Logic is still sleeping, is when my Heart and Desire conspire to bring you back.

They recall vividly how we used to reach for each other in the dim pre-dawn light, and how it felt to have your arms envelop me while I was still half asleep. They haven't forgiven me yet for letting you go - so they seem to conjure you at every opportunity.


There are parts of me who are furious at your departure. Hell, Pussy hasn't spoken to me in weeks. It will be a long time before she comes to terms with your absence.


During the day, Logic is strong, awake and aware, telling them all that it is necessary - essential - for growth, healing, development. And in the daylight, they all grudgingly agree. But as night ebbs and dreams dissolve into awareness - at those hazy edges, the troops rally to bring you back, to some how resurrect you from my memory and make you real again.

At those times, even Logic turns the other way - pretends to be asleep and allows the wanting to just flow. It's the only time all the pieces come to a unanimous agreement and like the mists of morning, that eventually evaporates in the rising sun.

Silent Witnesses

January 24, 2015

Most days, I'm fine. I'm functional. I wake up. Get myself dressed. Go to work and do my job. I shop for groceries. Prepare meals. Tidy my house. I even go for runs. I meet my friends for walks. I can talk about other things.

In fact, I barely speak of you at all.

But I can't lie.

There are moments when the tears overwhelm me. When I have to just put my pen down and let it wash over me. These are the moments when I feel like I will die if I don't reach out to you. When I can't think of anything but you.

Those moments, I find myself just holding on. I cling to the artifacts of our time together. The bottles of water you love so much, still residing in my refrigerator. The sad little used-up tube of toothpaste you picked up for me. The sweatshirt that I cannot bear to launder because it smells like your apartment.

To let them go is to let you go.
And I can't.

Since I do not speak aloud of the loss I feel, these items become my silent witnesses. They bear testimony to the love we shared. They are the witnesses who prove I didn't imagine it all.

The moments of distress pass - eventually.

When they do, I pick up my pen again, and I write it down.
To remember. To bear witness. To honor.

Because this testimony is not for nothing.

This is for everything.

Haunting

Now that all has been said and done, I have to decide what to do with all these remnants of memory. When I was with you, I was convinced that you were my forever, so every place we went, every thing we did had a sense of importance. It all went into the memory banks. Everything was significant.

There's not a place I can go that is untainted by your memory. So what to do? Do I avoid those places? If so, I'm going to have to leave town. I let you into every special place I had. To avoid them would mean not to go anywhere.

Since avoidance isn't an option, I've been consciously seeking them out. Going to those places on purpose, as if my presence will chase your ghost away.

Sometimes, it works. There are places I can go that are mine once again.

That makes me feel a little better when I come upon those spots that will always be yours. Those locations are so thoroughly haunted that I have no choice but to let the ghosts have them. They are the ones that I pass by with a chill in my heart and the sting of tears. [Tears? Seriously?! After all this, still the tears?]

You will always be there in my memory. So rather than fight it, I let my own past self go there too - just for a moment. It's then that I remember that for a while, there was joy and there was love. And I take that moment to be grateful for the sting of tears. They remind me that I am still here. Still alive. Still aware. They are the gift from my past me.

Without "then" there is no "now." And with that realization, those ghosts are a little less scary.

Wild Forgiveness

I am angry. I try to deny it, but there really is no point. It would be so much easier to be angry at you, but you are who you are.

It would be like being angry at a zebra for having stripes.

No, I'm angry at myself for thinking - by force of will and ferocity of love - that I could somehow transform your stripes to spots. For refusing to acknowledge that, no, this zebra is striped; it was clearly there in black and white.

It's a problem.

I will forgive you long before I forgive myself. But I suppose that is the luxury of moving on. I don't have to rehash YOUR missteps, mistakes and misrepresentations. I can tuck them away in a box with the memories of you. (Those mementos - which by the way, are no longer silent witnesses. I washed the sweatshirt. I threw out the toothpaste. And the bottles of water were served at your going away party.) But mine... Mine I have to carry. They are in danger of becoming the lens I view any future through.

But I don't want a future distorted by the past. I have to let this go.

I'm sorry I couldn't recognize your striped-ness early on; I could have saved us a lot of trouble. But at least now I know stripes when I see them. And I have the wherewithal to hold out for spots.

Revisionist History

Now that all is clear, I have to fight the urge to go back and revise my history. Would I have been so tender if I had known that the "time" and "space" you were taking was in another woman's bed?
Would I have wept so hard for you if I had known the truth of your duplicity?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I like to think my feelings were mine, and not dependent on the situation or context. Though, I admit it stings to know I cried for a man who only existed in my imagination.  That is who I mourn for now: the man I thought I knew. The man worthy of the love and tears I spent.

He's the one I long for, and the knowledge that he never existed is both blessing and curse.

So I feel foolish. But I also feel free.  I can now cut ties without guilt or regret. The time I spent wasn't wasted, because it was invested in me.

How's that for revision?

Breadcrumbs

With every early conversation, you sprinkled them
Along the path in the form of advice and
Probing questions
Urging me to follow.

Later, they were thrown down in
Frustration and exasperation
As I blithely refused to acknowledge
I was lost in the first place.

Finally, you threw your hands up, dropped the bag
Spilling its contents
And took off down the path
Alone.

I lingered in the woods a bit before
I looked up and realized
I was lost.
Really lost.

Slowly, I took those first tentative steps
Unsure, but following my heart,
I tried to navigate my way.
Not noticing the trail you had left.

Now, as I take each step forward,
I see them
Sprinkled on the path
And I remember.

I don't follow them exactly
Because it is essential
I find my own way -
Make my own trail.

But when I look down and see them,
They comfort me, reassure me.
You were there.
At one point in time, at least.

My steps are slow, but deliberate.
I try not to feel bad about
Being so slow
Lagging so far behind.

I concentrate on the step I am taking
Refusing to let my mind wonder
Where will the path lead?
Which is the "right way" to go?

It's my own path,
And the journey is what is important.
But I confess I would be delighted
If - somehow - it led me back to you.

Navigation

I'm better, but not there yet.
I'm in the in-between.

I can function without losing my head,
But I still feel the pull of you.
You are a magnet to me-
Your presence interferes with my compass.

You cannot be my North.

But it makes me happy that you are there -
Feeling that you care.

I care too.
Still too much.

I need more time to calibrate - to hone my skills
Before I can tolerate your magnetism without collapsing
Or getting completely lost.

Crazy Cat Lady

I'm not quite there yet, but I see the allure.

Soft, silky, warm and purring
These creatures bring me so much solace.

The one - affectionate.  In my lap constantly
Demanding a chin rub and then
So grateful to get it.

The other - more reserved, more selective.
When she deigns to approach
It is with bright eyes and sweet face
And I feel I've really earned something.

Both keep me tethered with their physicality
Their need to be fed, watered, scooped, adored.

Each is unapologetically herself.
Uncompromising.

You can learn much about boundaries
Watching a cat.

How to warn the encroacher with a low growl.
How to escape the interloper with a hiss and a scamper.
How to enforce the limits with tooth or claw if necessary.

And once balance is restored,
All is forgiven.

"You may pet me again."

Neither/Nor

February 10, 2015

I am neither done nor undone.
My desire was for the pain and longing to end.
To be done.
But that's not entirely accurate.
To be done is to close the book, put the pen down, and walk away.



I thought I was undone.

Unable to move forward: stuck, broken, defective.
But that's not true either.
To be undone is to cease progress
To remove the wheels from the bus and just collapse on the side of the road.



I am neither of these.
Not done nor undone.
My journey is incomplete and ongoing.
There is still much to learn, much to see, much to feel.
And so I roll on.

Bread & Water

February 3, 2015

In the shower this morning, I noticed something strange. I was singing my little shower song - the first time in months. When I got to the end, I looked down and noticed - pieces of me, just... missing.

How did I lose chunks of myself?

And then I remembered. It was from our failed communion.

You were hungry, so I tried to feed you. In the absence of bread, I gave you my body. A pound of flesh here, a pound of flesh there. But that couldn't satisfy your hunger - and it was wasted.

You were thirsty. The tears poured out of me - enough to fill the canteens of a platoon of soldiers, but the saltiness could not quench your thirst. They spilled to the ground instead.

I would have fed myself to you to save you from starving, but I couldn't achieve transubstantiation.

My body isn't bread.
My tears aren't water.
And love isn't a prison sentence.

Sleepwalker

February 2, 2015

I was asleep when you came into my life. Not like Sleeping Beauty - who docilely waited for her prince. No. I was a sleepwalker - moving constantly forward, but without purpose. Going through the motions, but completely unaware.

See, a sleepwalker just accepts what's put in front of her. She doesn't question. Doesn't make demands. A sleepwalker can't make decisions about the direction she goes in. She goes one way until she bumps into something, and then shuffles off in another direction. Sleepwalkers are aimless wanderers.

I was asleep when you found me, and you awakened me - but not with a kiss.

It was with cold water and a shake that you pulled me out of my slumber. And I loved you for it. So happy to have my eyes open, I forgave the manner.

But you didn't have to be so rough.
I was a light sleeper and was ready to be awakened.
And once I was roused, I didn't need to be doused with that frigid water continually.


I'm fully awake now. You can stop shaking me.

Superpower

January 31, 2015

If words are my superpower,
I think the world may be in trouble.

I've been wielding them for weeks now
And the universe remains untouched.

Could it be that I'm not the hero of the story?

Damsel In Distress

January 31, 2015

I've been thinking like a damsel in distress-
Waiting for her dashing White Knight
To find his way to her tower.

I've passed the time well enough -
Industriously, productively.

But I'm still locked up.

I am a starting to think that the White Knight
Is not coming.
He's busy saving himself -
Which is as it should be.

So how do I get out of this tower?
There doesn't seem to be a door and the ladder fell down long ago.

I guess I have to jump and hope for the best.
Maybe the moat is deep enough.

Or maybe, just maybe, I will fly.

Progress

January 22, 2015

I dreamed you contacted me. Your name popped on my phone as the text alert pinged. My heart leapt, upon seeing your name. Sad to admit, but even now, I still half expect to see it every time my phone squawks, but this time it really was there!

As I began to collect my thoughts to reply, you called. As the phone rang in my hand, all I could think was "Not yet! I'm not ready yet!"

I took it as a good sign.

I have moved past the "anything to have you back" phase. I even think I've passed through the "make the best of a bad situation" period. I'm not "just biding my time" or "in a holding pattern" anymore. I'm living my life. Making new friends. Trying new things.

I'm optimistic.

Any day now, I expect I will be able to shop at Target without wanting to cry. Maybe soon, I will be able to buy contact lens solution at Harris Teeter without thinking of the giddiness that first night night together. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will be able to enter Wake County without the dull aching pain of your absence.

Someday.

But not yet.

I'm not ready yet.

Staring Down Stupid Phone

January 29, 2015

Stupid Phone used to be my friend. She and I would commune for hours because she connected me to you. Back then, she was seldom silent. From rising until sleep, she was my constant companion - delivering your messages faithfully.

Even when romance was shelved, she delivered your voice - wry and earnest - to me every day. Without fail.

These days, the bitch has turned on me. There is no friendly buzz at the beginning of the day. She sits stubbornly silent as I trudge through the work day. And at night. At night, she stares me down - defiantly silent.

"You know what to do to make me speak again," Stupid Phone seems to taunt. And I am tempted. But I know there is no satisfaction with that. It's just an empty promise of hers. Because while she can deliver a shadow of you, she can't bring back the version who loved me. And if I can't have that, I will accept no consolation prize.

So I show you my love with silence - space - time, just as you showed me yours by speaking up. Stupid Phone doesn't understand love, sacrifice, service. She only knows NOW - want - have.

I thought she was my ally, but she is a false one.

"I can give you what you desire," Stupid Phone whispers. She doesn't care about my well-being or yours. She tempts me with what it is I think I want.

But it is her silence that we both need.

Defying Gravity

The Broadway show Wicked is in town this month, and I have tickets to see it.  It wasn't my original plan, but I am planning to take The Girl to see it.  She's quite the budding diva - and I've been playing the songs her entire life.  So even though she's a wee bit on the young side, we are going to have a Mommy-Daughter date.

To say she is excited is a tremendous understatement.

In preparation, she and I have been listening to the soundtrack non-stop.  Our current favorite song is the show stopper "Defying Gravity."  We've listened to it about 80 times in the last week or so, and I'm happy to report that I can almost get through it without tearing up now.  Now, I can hear you saying, What doesn't make Rhonda tear up these days?  To which I reply, "Not a whole lot, thankyouverymuch, and I ain't ashamed of it."

Why is it that this song strikes such a cord with me?  Like so many of the songs that have popped up on my playlist lately (see the iTunes Divination entry for further detail on my theory of this), this song has the feel of an anthem of independence.  It beautifully captures the heart swelling possibility, the elation, and the pride in taking a leap on your own, but it also hints at the danger and the menace one feels by taking such a step.  It's not an easy or effortless thing to do, but it's exhilarating to try.  Give it a listen and see if you agree:

Something has changed within me. Something is not the same,
I'm though with playing by the rules of Someone else's games.
Too late for second guessing.  Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts, Close my eyes and leap

It's time to try defying gravity
I think I'll try defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye I'm defying gravity
And you won't bring me down

I'm through accepting limits, Cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change but 'till I Try I'll never know
Too long I've been afraid of Losing love I guess I've lost
Well if that's love it comes Too much to high a cost

I'd sooner buy defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye I'm defying gravity
I think I'll try defying gravity
And you won't bring me down

So if you care to find me Look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately: "Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo, At least I'm flying free.
To those who'd ground me, Take a message back from me 

Tell them how I am
Defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity
And soon I'll match them in renown! 

And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

 It's that second verse that gets me every time.  I'm through accepting limits/ 'cause someone says they're so./Some things I cannot change/ but 'til I try, I'll never know.  That certainty and defiance are so admirable.  She's breaking out of the role someone cast her in long ago.  But it's the next bot that really resonates with me:

Too long I've been afraid of/ losing love I guess I've lost./ Well if that's love/ it comes at much too high a cost...  As a woman who has spent the better part of 40 years being afraid of losing love - either from colleagues, peers, friends or lovers - I  can tell you that the cost of that mindset is very, very high.  In fact, if one isn't too careful, it will bleed you dry before you know it.  So the moment when one realizes that 1.) it's probably already a lost cause if you have to hold on desperately for it  and 2) something you have to cling to for dear life just to keep isn't worth the cost it's incredibly liberating.  It can feel like soaring.

The gravity of expectation and obligation is strong, and when one finds a way to break free and defy that pull, that is cause for celebration indeed.

A Good Wallow

Today was an improvement at 44 degrees when I headed out.  I'd been feeling mellow all day, and then in the early afternoon, a big heavy fog settled on my mood.  The waterworks started, and I knew it was time for a good wallow.  In the past, this would have equated me crawling into my bed with something chocolately.  But, not today!  Today, I wallowed with a run.  A short one, because I had places to go tonight, but I got out there.

On Today's Playlist
Today's was a shuffle selection from my "A Good Wallow" playlist:
1, Shake it Out by Florence + the Machine
2. Samson by Regina Spektor
3. The Only Exception by Paramore
4. The Scientist by Coldplay
5. Strong Enough by Sheryl Crow (more on this later)
6. I Won't Give Up by Jason Mraz

Featured Lyrics from Today's Playlist
And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back
And given half the chance would I take any of it back?
It's a fine romance but it's left me so undone.
It's always darkest before the dawn-from Shake It Out

On My Mind Today
I usually think of Sheryl Crow as my spirit guide, but today, I found myself arguing with her.  At issue were these lines from Strong Enough:
Lie to me.  I promise, I'll believe
Lie to me, but please don't leave.

Wait. WHAT?!

Sheryl, my goddess of badassery.  My muse of butt kicking.  What the hell is this?
I started to get a little pissed.  I had been quoting this song for years - and pretty heavily recently. Could it be that this was not what I had imagined it to be?  I started to get a little huffy at ol' Sheryl.  When I think of self-aware and with-it females, her name comes high up on the list.  How could this come from her?  But really, what person hasn't been there?  How can I blamree Sheryl for capturing what it feels like to try to hold on to something that just isn't right?  Hell, I've been doing that for months.  So I can't get too mad at her.  And at least she was honest with herself - even if she was willing to just accept what she wanted to hear from her man.  So kudos to her for telling it like it sometimes is.

Not that I agree that that's the best way to live, but at least it's real.

I rewrote the lyrics in my head:
Tell me the truth.  That's all I want from you.
Tell me the truth, and go if you have to.

And then I knew.

I am sad, and I feel the loss of something important.  But I'm not broken.  I'm not believing what I want to believe.  I'm not lying to myself.  Not anymore.

This is excellent news.

This Girl Is On Fire

It's a lovely 34 degrees here in beautiful Durham, NC.  In my defense, I didn't realize the temperature had dropped so much when I decided to go for a run.  And by the time I figured it out, I was all dressed.  And you KNOW, once you're dressed... you have to go.

Tonight's run was a short one - just 2.1 miles around the neighborhood.  That's fine by me, because it was [insert your favorite cliche about cold weather] here.  

On Today's Playlist:
Today was a shuffle play selection from my "Over It" playlist.
1. Good by Better than Ezra
2. It Ain't That Bad by Melissa Etheridge
3. Girl on Fire by Alicia Keyes
4. Dogs Days are Over by Florence + the Machine
5. Lose Yourself by Eminem
6. Take My Number by Melissa Etheridge



Featured Lyrics from Today's Playlist:

Looks like a girl, but she's aflame.

So bright, she can burn your eyes, better look the other way.

You can try, but you'll never forget her name

She on top of the world

Hottest of the hottest girls say...

-from Girl on Fire

On My Mind Today:
It's been a rough few weeks here, and I've definitely been struggling.  Like many people, when up against resistance and struggle, I often doubt myself.  I start to wonder Am I making the right decision?  Do I have the strength and wisdom to handle this?  And many times, I will hedge - try to play it safe and minimize my risks.

By now, I should know that never works.

So today, I took a big risk, put all my cards on the table, and laid it all on  the line.  I have know idea if the risk will pay off - and actually, whether it does or not kind of doesn't matter.  That's not the point at all.

By taking that risk, I placed a bet on me.  And THAT always pays out - big time.